


I've Been Down Here Before, And I Know the Way Out

by Gang_Aft_Agley



Series: It Takes a Village [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Certain Characters have a definite TYPE, Crossover, Everyone is an Olympic Athelete, F/M, Gen, M/M, Massive Crossover AU, Olympic Village Shenanigans, PyeongChang 2018 Winter Olympics, What Happens in the Olympic Village STAYS in the Olympic Village, Winter Olympics, consolation milkshakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22766209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gang_Aft_Agley/pseuds/Gang_Aft_Agley
Summary: Yuri's once again on the run from Olympic Village Shenanigans.At least this time, he makes a new friend who totally understands his pain.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Yuri Plisetsky, Darcy Lewis/Loki, Jane Foster/Thor, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: It Takes a Village [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/772050
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	I've Been Down Here Before, And I Know the Way Out

Yuri Plisetsky wasn't entirely sure where he was. Obviously, he was still in the Village, given that he hadn't walked face-first into a fence, a security guard, or a pack of rabid Angels. Beyond that admittedly vague qualification, however, who the fuck knew? Not him!

He loved his regular rinkmates … most of the time, anyway. He liked Natasha well enough, at least when she wasn’t inspiring abject terror in all she encountered. Despite being a hockey player _and_ an American, Barnes was tolerable on the rare occasions they came into contact: treating Yuri like a _peer_ , rather than a sullen child or an unexploded bomb, unlike certain other people who fell into both of those categories *coughcoughPARSON*.

But there are some things he never, in this lifetime, needed to hear. Or see. Or know about, for that matter. Ever. And he’d had just about enough mockery from Milla or condescending sympathy from Victor and the Katsudon for an entire lifetime, too.

Eventually, he stumbled to a halt, because you can only stomp around in a righteous fury for so long before you topple over from exhaustion. He bent over, panting, hands resting on his knees, as he tried to get his bearings and plot his revenge.

"Oh, I know _that_ face," someone said behind him, voice crackling with amusement. Yuri whirled to spot a woman about Victor's age, drowning in a comically oversized parka and smirking up at him from a bench tucked away under the eaves of the nearest dorm.

"That's a 'Baby's First Olympic Village Sexile' face, am I right?" she continued, eyebrows lifting expectantly.

He opened his mouth to protest both her presumption _and_ being called a baby, but he'd already screamed most of his anger out at his horrible, insufferable, oversexed sort-of-friends, and his power-walk around the dorms (along with several bouts of protracted swearing) had drained the rest. Now he just felt _empty_ : empty, drained, and not a little wobbly.

"You're right, and it _sucks_." Her eyes softened a little, and she patted the bench next to her.

"It's a time-honored tradition, kiddo," she informed him solemnly as he collapsed against her side, reminding him comfortingly of Mari Katsuki. "Frustrating as hell, but no way around it, I'm afraid."

All Yuri could do is groan, deep and heartfelt, muffling his face in her shoulder. His new friend stroked his hair soothingly, and surprisingly, he felt no desire to bite her hand off for it. Usually only Madame Lilia could get away with that.

"Fuck, this is _not_ a new thing, I witnessed drunk Yuuri Katuski at the Grand Prix Final and avoided being scarred for life, why does it bother me so fucking much _here_?" 

She _hmmm_ ed thoughtfully for a moment before answering.

"Everything's just _more_ at the Olympics, I guess. Including the simmering hotbed of hormones, sadly, and of course we’re all extra-super on edge from competition nerves anyway, so it feels a lot worse that it really should."

"GAAAAAAHHHHH." She laughed and patted his head again.

"Trust me, kidlet, I share your pain. I'm stuck out here in a borrowed coat, _without_ my phone, all because my best friend was in too big a hurry to peel an admittedly godlike Viking out of his horrible stretchy pants."

Yuri's face twisted in horror as he stared at her. She waggled her eyebrows comically, startling a quavery laugh out of him.

"Okay, you win. It's just ... I _have_ a boyfriend, so I should probably be _more_ sympathetic, not less."

"Mmmm. And is he actually _here_?" 

He shrugged. "Technically speaking, sure. But… _"_

She smiled sympathetically. "Lemme guess: you haven’t seen nearly enough of him, because your coaches are conspiring to be super strict?"

Yuri nodded, channeling Yakov for a moment. "We're young and it's our first Olympics, we need to focus on the competition and not be distracted, there’ll be plenty of time for canoodling in the off-season. Plus, we both have _brutal_ media engagements, but the times do not line up _at all_ , and he's hoping to pick up new sponsors, so he's been spending most of his free time with his agent."

Now _her_ mouth twisted in horror, and she even stuck out her tongue, nose crinkling with disgust.

“Oh, gross, your coach did not actually _say_ canoodling, did he? My coach at least prefers to turn a blind eye to those kinds of goings-on, and utterly _refuses_ to discuss them with us.”

He grinned. “It’s a patented Yakov Feltsman term, used to describe all manner of shenanigans.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _That_ , I can believe. Coach Feltsman is, shall we say … notorious.”

Yuri cocked his head to the side, curious. “You’re not a skater, how would you know?”

She snorted, and gently tugged on a lock of his hair. “This is my third freaking Olympics, kiddo. You pick up a few things here and there, especially with the more prominent sports, and the Russian figure skating contingent is, ah … hard to miss.” 

Yuri swallowed. “I suppose you do.” A three-time Olympian was nothing to sneeze at, even without medaling … and somehow, he doubted this woman had come home from her previous games completely devoid of shiny hardware.

She smiled softly, and held out her hand. 

"I guess we should do name, rank, and serial number, right? Darcy Lewis, USA, bobsleigh."

He shook back, tentatively ... or at least, he _tried_ for tentative, but her grip was too firm to allow for anything but immediate reciprocity. "Yuri Plisetsky, Russia, figure skating, but I guess you already figured that last part out." 

"Yeah, and I totally get why you needed to run away. Probably not as bad as _my_ dorms, but bad enough." Yuri narrowed his eyes in suspicion at her knowing tone.

"You know about the Russian dorms from personal experience, _don't you_." He didn't phrase it as a question, and Darcy positively _twinkled_.

" _Maaaybe, maaybe not,"_ she sing-songed, flicking a loose piece of hair back over her shoulder. Yuri inhaled sharply as he drew a very unpleasant conclusion.

"Please tell me you didn't have a .... a ... a _liaison_ with Victor Nikiforov. Please. Even if you did, LIE. Lie through your teeth. I can't get drunk until after the free skate, and no one has invented real brain bleach yet."

She gave another considering hum, tapping her lips with one blue-tipped finger.

"Nikiforov, Nikiforov ... he's the silver-haired pretty boy, best friends with the Swiss lech, and surgically attached to the Japanese cutie with glasses?" Yuri nodded, cautiously optimistic if she had to confirm his identity.

"That's the one."

"No, definitely not him." Yuri felt a wave of relief wash over him - prematurely as it turned out, because Darcy's grin turned absolutely _feral_. "Georgi Popovich, on the other hand ...." She let her voice trail off meaningfully.

"I didn't think it was possible, but that's _actually WOOOOORSE!"_ Yuri's voice rose to a shriek on the last syllable as he prepared to run away again. Darcy sighed, and yanked him back down onto the bench by his jacket.

"Shush, before a security guard wants to know who's strangling a cat. It was a sloppy dance floor makeout at the Closing Ceremonies afterparty in Vancouver, nothing more, so calm down and get your head out of the gutter."

Yuri snarled something incoherent and slumped back against the bench, crossing his arms in a sulk. 

"I'm just trying to get past the idea of _anyone_ thinking Zhora is worth locking lips with. He’s such a weirdo."

She shrugged, amused, and nudged him with her shoulder.

"Eh, I was drunk and he was cute, so I thought, what the hell? It happens, kidlet."

After another minute of protracted sulking, Yuri turned and looked Darcy up and down, head to toe. Noted the cascade of dark hair, ivory skin, curvaceous figure, and brilliantly red lipstick. 

"You know, you're _just_ his type." 

She rolled her eyes and nudged him again, harder this time.

"Yes, ta ever so, I’ve never heard _that_ before. Jane Facebook stalked him relentlessly after Vancouver, because apparently my taste in men is questionable and she was supposedly looking out for me, so she wasted no time in telling me when Georgi started dating ... oh ... what's-her-name," Darcy twirled her hand in the air, searching for an answer. "The ice dancer who dumped him so brutally a few years back."

"Anya." She snapped her fingers in recognition.

"Anya! That's it! Anyway, they seemed happy enough on Facebook, at least at first, but I'm not exactly surprised he turned out to be a bit ... clingy."

Yuri snorted inelegantly, a sound for which Madame Lilia would have had his head if she heard him. “Understatement of the fuckin’ year.”

She rapped her knuckles lightly on the top of his head. “Language, kiddo. Don’t want that slipping out…”

“…in front of the cameras, I know. Bah. Whatever.” He slumped down further, folding his arms across his knees and resting his chin on top.

“Wanna talk about whatever sent you fleeing into the night like a heartbroken Gothic heroine?”

He shook his head. “Not now, not EVER.” He sighed gustily, and she ran her fingers through his hair. “How have you _possibly_ dealt with this three times without murdering someone?”

She gave him another consoling pat. “Really good earplugs, and rock-paper-scissors with Laufeyson about which of us will graciously offer to vacate their room for the night.”

Yuri frowned.

“Who’s Laufeyson?”

“He’s … well, speak of the devil.” She jerked her chin to one side, and Yuri looked up to see a tall, lanky figure jogging towards the dorm entrance off to their right. "THOR'S STILL LAYING HIS HAMMER DOWN, LAUFEYSON!" 

The newcomer turned, squinted against the growing darkness, and changed course with a truly ferocious scowl.

"No, he's not, he's blowing up my phone because both you and his parka have gone missing, Lewis. Foul play is suspected, since you aren't answering his texts. And thank you _ever_ so much for that mental picture, I really enjoy thinking about my brother in those terms." 

Darcy grinned, showing far more teeth than could possibly be necessary. "You know me, always willing to share the trauma of hammertime. Plus, newsflash: most people who are attracted to men in any way, shape, or form think of your brother in those terms. Sad for you, I'm sure, but totally true." 

Laufeyson’s nostrils flared and his lips tightened. “Thor is simply worried. He and Jane are about to send out a search party. Your lack of a phone is … uncharacteristic.”

Darcy rose slowly, gazing up at the beanpole with a look of pitying condescension.

"I don’t have my phone for the same reason I'm wearing Thor's parka: it was in _my_ coat pocket, he and Jane caught me off guard, and I barely had time to snag _his_ coat to keep from freezing before I ran away. You would have done the same; in fact, I’m pretty sure you _have_."

Laufeyson had the grace to flush slightly, and looked away. Yuri stood too, feeling awkward to be the only one still sitting, and Darcy draped an arm over his shoulder, drawing Laufeyson’s attention back towards them.

“I see you made a new friend, Lewis.” His tone was frosty, but courteous nevertheless.

Darcy was equally cool and polite as she performed the necessary pleasantries. “Indeed I have. Yuri, meet Loki Laufeyson of Norway. He’s a downhill skier. His brother Thor, a curler, is dating my roommate and pilot, Jane, which is how we met. Laufeyson, this is Yuri Plisetsky, Russian figure skater and fellow exile from teammate shenanigans.”

Laufeyson’s handshake was somewhat chilly compared to Darcy’s warm grip, but no less firm, and he seemed to thaw a trifle upon hearing of Yuri’s predicament. “My condolences on the temporary expulsion from your dorm. It’s always a bit rough the first time, but you’ll soon get used to it. And please, call me Loki. Miss Lewis insists on the formality of my surname, but it’s quite unnecessary.”

Darcy’s grin widened. “Only because you did it first, and anyway, it’s one of the few things that can ruffle your feathers.”

Laufeyson – Loki – did indeed look distinctly ruffled, two spots of color rising high on his pale cheeks, and Yuri bit his lip to suppress a smile. _Ruffled_ , but not exactly … _displeased_ about it.

“Now,” Darcy continued blithely, as Loki smoothed back a few strands of hair that had shaken loose from his ponytail, “if you’ll let Thor and Jane know that I am neither kidnapped nor dead, I think we all deserve a milkshake. If I know them, they won’t be done anytime soon, so there’s not point in going back just yet.”

Loki made that same face of disgust from before, but pulled out his phone to comply. As Darcy persisted in needling him with vigor, Yuri seized the opportunity to snap a quick photo of her and send it to Milla, along with a text.

_You've been replaced: I have a new best friend. AT LEAST SOMEONE ELSE UNDERSTANDS MY SUFFERING!!!!!_

* * *

Much later, after he'd gotten yelled at by Milla for the text and for running away, an apologetic half-hug from Natasha, a manly nod from Barnes, and consoling cuddles from Beka, Yuri went on a bit of a wiki-walk, googling some of the people Darcy and Loki had discussed over milkshakes in the dining hall. 

Hela Odinson is terrifying both on and off the ice, Jane Foster and Thor Odinson are sickeningly adorable together, Erik Selvig just looks exhausted by his protégés’ antics, and both Brunnhilde Sakaar and Sif Hvete should _never_ be introduced to Milla. Ever.

Quite by accident, he stumbled across a picture of Loki at the start of a downhill run from last year’s Worlds. The angle of his head and the quirk of his lips in that particular shot were very, very familiar. A bit more hasty googling turned up a similar photo of Georgi in that god-awful Carabosse costume from Yuri's first season at the senior level ... with the exact same head-tilt and expression of faintly gleeful murderosity.

Cackling, Yuri hesitated for _maybe_ two seconds before sending both pictures to Darcy with just a little commentary. (She’d insisted on trading numbers before they split up.)

 _Perhaps Zhora isn't the ONLY one with a type_?

He expected to get a string of angry emojis liberally seasoned with profanity in response. Not his fault she and Loki were totally playing footsie under the table. Subtle they were not. And yes, he recognized the complete and total irony of making that proclamation.

Instead, Darcy sent him a picture of herself flanked by Sif and Brunnhilde, all three wearing aviators and serious expressions promising grim and painful death. Darcy had her arms crossed, while the biathletes displayed their guns in a manner that clearly meant business. And he didn’t mean their (admittedly impressive) biceps.

 _I WILL END YOU_ was the caption, although the threat was somewhat softened by Darcy's sleep shirt that featured a troll with hair the color of candy-floss declaring her to be NOT A MORNING PERSON.

Yurio snorted toothpaste up his nose.

_It seems like your standards are slipping, Miss Lewis. At least Zhora washes his hair!_

He got at least ten pictures of Beka in rapid succession, almost too quickly to count, followed by _And your boyfriend has only one facial expression, what's your point?_

_Touche, Lewis. Touche._

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is wondering, Hela Odinson competes in skeleton, because she's insane like that, and the Warriors Three are the other members of Thor's curling team, with Skurge as an alternate. And yes, they totally wear the pants. Loki refuses to pose for any photos with his brother while he's wearing them, unless Frigga insists. Which she always does.
> 
> Title taken from "Noël" in the 2nd season of _The West Wing_


End file.
